


Sometimes the Plants and the Sun Can't Fix It

by lou_beatrix



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: a tiny bit of angst, and louis likes flowers, anyway enjoy, basically fluff i guess?, harry is a gardener, it's just like a lil short story, it's so short that like. it's just., just a cute thing :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:54:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3960031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lou_beatrix/pseuds/lou_beatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry really loves his garden, and not much else. Louis really likes Harry's garden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes the Plants and the Sun Can't Fix It

A bee lands on Harry's second toe of his left foot. The foot is resting in a flower bed; his long legs are sprawled out among the plants as he sits amongst his flora friends, hunched over, planting more friends. And now he has a bee friend. He used to be afraid of bees. He used to be afraid of a lot of things that he's not afraid of anymore. But this bee lands on the second toe of his left foot, and he freezes. He doesn't want to anger the bee. But he is curious—what does the bee think Harry's toe is? A flower? A rock? He doesn't know if bees have good eyesight. He doesn't dare move. He thinks back to the time he got stung by six wasps in quick succession a few summers back when he went on a hike. But wasps aren't bees. Bees are nice. But he is still worried that the bee may sting him. So he just sits, and waits. His plant friends can wait too.  


Harry feels like the bee is staring at him. The bee stares for what must be half a minute, then flies off again. He feels relieved that the bee is gone, and then feels sad for being relieved. The bee meant no harm. Maybe the bee was lonely. Harry knows what that is like, that's why he has plant friends. People make him nervous and he doesn't like feeling that way. But plants don't make Harry feel nervous. He likes to learn about them from books and then bring them to his garden and learn from them some more. He grows things in pots and then transplants them into his garden. Everyone in the neighborhood loves his garden. An old man used to walk by and wave to Harry every day around noon all last spring. One day the old man came up to Harry and said he'd helped him recover from a heart attack. Harry was very confused. He'd never spoken to this man before. He'd only waved, but only if the old man waved first. The old man told Harry that he'd had a heart attack half a year ago, and his doctor said he needed to exercise more. So he started walking for an hour every day. And the thing that got him out of his house every day was the thought of going by Harry's garden to see what was blooming or what had been planted. This made Harry very happy. His plant friends are so good to him, and to everyone else, too. He sometimes thinks about all of the plants that die every day because people pull them out or spray them with chemicals or ruin the soil. But he can't think about it too long because he'll get too sad.  


Most of the time, being outside with his plant friends can help him feel better when he's sad. He thinks maybe he's part plant himself because the sun is like his food; if he doesn't go outside, he feels dead. And he'll continue to die for days until he finally realizes how dead he is, and then he'll go outside again and slowly the sun will give him strength again. Sometimes it means that Harry has to walk around for hours, going to the grocery store on foot or walking back behind the high school and seeing how far the roads take him before he hits a highway. He doesn't like highways. They're useful, but he doesn't like them. That's sort of how he feels about lots of things. He does a lot of things he doesn't want to do because he has to. Harry figures that that's just life.  


Sometimes, though, being outside with his plant friends can't make him feel better when he's sad. And he feels bad. He wishes he could tell them that he knows they're trying their best, but sometimes problems can't be fixed. Sometimes you just have to sit with them for hours, days, months, years, however long it takes before you know the problem so well that you can figure out how to lead it out the door. There are some problems that leave footprints in all the rooms of your mind from all that time spent walking around in there, sometimes with muddy boots on. Harry has a few of those, and sometimes he'll think he's gotten them to leave, but they'll come back in unexpected and sometimes they'll bring friends, and that's the worst. Harry doesn't like feeling overcrowded. That's why he doesn't talk to people very much, they make him feel crowded. But sometimes the crowding happens in his head, and he can't leave. Sometimes he cries because there's so much in his head that the plants can't fix and the sun can't fix, and it just spills out of him. When he cries he can't be with his plant friends outside because then other people would see him cry. And if they did, they might ask him what is wrong. And he doesn't know, and he doesn't want to tell anyone anything anyway. So he cries indoors, only. It is more sad this way, but it's one of those things Harry doesn't like but has to do anyway, because that's life.  


The day that the bee lands on his toe, Harry is not very sad, only a little bit. He thinks it's nice that the bee wanted to say hello. When it leaves, he continues gardening. He digs a small hole in the dirt, just big enough to place the nasturtium he is planting. He plops it in, and brings the dug up soil back and fills in the spaces, and then pats it down with his hands. He doesn't like to wear shoes or gloves when he gardens. He thinks it would be offensive to the plants. They aren't dirty, so why should he wear shoes or gloves? He likes to feel the soil in his hands and on his feet. He plants a few more nasturtiums, waters them, and then puts his watering can and shovel back in the shed. The sun's heading west, which means Harry should go back inside. 

It is a few weeks later when Harry is tending to his nasturtiums again, admiring how beautiful they look. He thinks he will collect some of the flowers and leaves for a salad. The sun is full and hot. He feels a tickling sensation on his left foot and looks over to see that a bee has landed on the second toe. Harry thinks this is peculiar. He wonders if there is something special about the second toe of his left foot. He wonders if the bees are initiating him into their family. He thinks that that might be fun. The bee shakes its yellow bottom a bit and then heads off, leaving Harry to think about how life might be if he were a bee.  


He hears a light, airy gasp and he knows that it didn't come from him, he would've remembered making that noise. He looks up and sees a boy with bright blue eyes and fluffy brown hair looking down at him. He figures the boy must be around his age, but he does look quite a bit smaller. But then, Harry is quite large.  


“I'm sorry, your flowers are just so beautiful,” the fluffy blue boy says, looking around at Harry's garden with wide eyes.  


“It's okay, I don't think you've disturbed them at all, I think they quite like it when they get compliments from strangers,” Harry replies.  


“It's all so lovely,” the boy continues, trying to take it all in. He's really quite overwhelmed.  


“Would you like one?” Harry asks, holding out a nasturtium.  


“A flower?” the boy asks, confused. “A flower for me?”  


Harry nods. “You can eat these,” he says, popping one in his mouth.  


He takes the flower from Harry's hand and puts in his mouth, chewing. His faces scrunches up in surprise. “It's quite peppery,” he says after swallowing.  


“It's a nasturtium,” Harry says, by way of reply to the boy's comment.  


“It's very nice.”  


“Would you like another?” Harry asks.  


“Yes, please,” the boy says, holding out his hand. They both chew on their nasturtiums in silence.  


“What are you called?” Harry asks the boy.  


“Louis,” he replies. “What are you called?”  


“Harry.”  


“That's a nice name.”  


“Thank you, my mum gave it to me.”  


Louis just stares at Harry for several moments. “Those nasturtiums were very delicious, thank you.”  


“Would you like some more?” Harry asks.  


“Oh, I don't want to eat all your flowers,” Louis says, looking away.  


“I was going to make a salad,” Harry says. “Would you like some salad? Nasturtiums are very good in salad.”  


“I would very much like some salad, but are you sure you'd like to share? They are your flowers after all.”  


“No, they're not mine, they belong to themselves. They're my friends, though, and I know that they like making new friends. They don't make new friends very often, except for the bees. I just made friends with a bee a few minutes ago.”  


“Well then, do you think the flowers should like to be friends with me?” Louis asks.  


Harry looks around at his plants, then to the nasturtiums in his hand, then back up to Louis, who is still standing over him. He nods. “I should think so.”  


Louis smiles. “Then I should like to be friends with them as well.”  


“Good. I'm sure they're very pleased. If you stay here, I will make a salad and bring it back outside. The sun is out and pairs wonderfully with lunch.”  
Louis nods. Harry stands up, and Louis takes his place on the ground. Harry disappears into the house, and Louis feels as though he's in a trance, mesmerized by all of the flowers and vegetables and greenery surrounding him. 

Louis comes back to see Harry's garden every day. Harry is very pleased to see Louis. He thinks he is very nice, and likes that Louis enjoys his garden, and he thinks his plant friends also like Louis because he is so nice to them. Sometimes Harry will teach Louis things about gardening, or tell him about the plants, the things he's learned in books and the things he's learned from watching them and talking to them. Louis likes this very much. He loves Harry's garden.  


One day, Harry is sad, and he does not go outside to his garden. It is one of the days when he is crying, and he must stay inside. When Louis comes by, he notices that Harry is not there. It is very quiet all around, and Louis can hear a muffled noise coming from inside the house. He walks up to the door and knocks on it twice. Louis waits for a few moments, but there is no response. He knocks again. Still, there is nothing. He wonders what that sound could possibly be. He knows someone must be inside the house, that is not a noise that a chair or a bowl could make on its own. Louis knocks once more, and says, “Hello?”  


The noise stops for a moment, and then there's silence. “Who's there?” a voice asks.  


“Louis,” he replies.  


“I'm sorry Louis, I'm not outside today,” Harry says.  


“I know that, because I can tell that you are inside.”  


“I'm not going outside today,” Harry says.  


“Why not? It's very nice outside,” Louis replies.  


“It's a day when I can't go outside. The plants and the sun can't fix it.”  


“Fix what?” Louis asks.  


“I don't know,” Harry responds.  


Louis waits for Harry to say something else, but he doesn't. “Would you like me to go away?”  


“No,” Harry replies.  


“Okay, then I won't, but I don't quite like shouting to you through the door. May I come inside?”  


Harry says nothing, but Louis can hear the shuffling of feet and then the click of a lock. The door swings open and Harry is standing there, with puffy red eyes.  


“Your eyes don't look very good, Harry,” Louis notes.  


“They don't feel very good.”  


“Here,” Louis says, taking Harry's hand and shutting the door behind them. He walks Harry over to the couch and guides him to sit down, and then nudges him so that he lays down on the couch. He raises his hands up to Harry's eyes and gently closes the lids. He then rubs his hands together briskly until he feels them heat up, and then cups his palms over Harry's eyes.  


“Does that feel nice?” Louis asks.  


“Yes,” Harry says.  


“I do this when my eyes look like yours. They usually look like this if I've been crying. Have you been crying, Harry?”  


“Yes,” Harry says.  


“Why?” Louis asks.  


“Because I'm sad,” Harry replies.  


“Why?” Louis asks.  


“I don't know,” Harry says.  


“Okay,” Louis says. He lifts his hands away and when he does this Harry's fly open and look at Louis, scared.  


“Why do you look scared?” Louis asks.  


“I thought you were going to leave,” Harry says.  


“I was just going to rub my hands again,” Louis says, beginning to do just that. Once he's placed his warm palms back over Harry's eyes, he says, “Do you not want me to leave?”  


“No,” Harry replies.  


“Okay,” Louis says.  


So Louis stays. 

There are many days when Harry is out in his garden, and Louis joins him. But there are some days when Harry is not. So Louis knocks on Harry's door, and he goes inside and holds his hands over Harry's eyes. And sometimes Harry is shivering, so Louis holds him. And sometimes Harry is crying, so he wipes away his tears. And sometimes Harry's lips won't stop trembling, so Louis kisses them to hold them still. No matter what Harry is doing, Louis is there. And Harry likes this very much. He likes Louis very much. He thinks that Louis is quite like his plant friends. But Louis can hold him, and kiss him, and his plant friends can't do that. He thinks Louis is special, because he's made Harry realize that he doesn't have to go outside to feel loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Just felt like writing something cute :) Let me know what you think, my tumblr is louis-tummy :)


End file.
